


A Weaver's Knot

by Lloerthann



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Multi, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lloerthann/pseuds/Lloerthann
Summary: Once upon a time, one of the Faithful Numenoreans was cast out of her own time and place into ours by a repentant maia trying to make amends.  His action disrupts the fate of Middle Earth, and now the Valar must mend that fate by retrieving the remaining members of that line and returning them.  But time and events have moved on, in both worlds.  The quest for Erebor and all that follows are about to be re-woven.
Relationships: Dwalin (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Dwalin (Tolkien)/Original Male Character(s), Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My choices about when to hew to books or films are entirely arbitrary. I do try not to up-end Tolkien's canonical world. Some passages may read rather politically. *Shrugs* I am trying to come close to Tolkien's diction, but he is the master and I a novice. Finally, this is a very slow burn and Thorin & Co. won't even appear until chapter 12, but I hope it's worth the wait. There will be deaths, but most of them will happen "off screen," as it were, and don't include any of the canonical characters.
> 
> All of the canon belongs to Tolkien and his estate, or to Peter Jackson. The OCs are mine.
> 
> I also want to thank AnnEllspethRaven and SonaBeanSidhe; their amazing work in this fandom inspired me to try.

Two figures in hooded robes strode down the long, dark hall, casting tong shadows in the flickering light of crystal lamps. On either side, colorful tapestries hung, from the floor to a ceiling that disappeared in dimness. One threw back his hood. Eyes like sapphires sparkled. The other remained covered in his robe of black.

“You know he was trying to help. To atone for his earlier mistake.”

“I do. And I do not hold this as a mark against him. But it has created further disharmony.”

“Has it?”

“Yes. The child not yet born had a purpose that has been thwarted. Now he has been born in another time and place, and has fathered a child of his own.”

“What of his mother? His wife?”

“Both are mortal. We can do little about their fates. But he has entered the halls, and he and his daughter are half-elven. They will both have choices, and through them, we may put some of this right.”

“What do you need of me, besides permission?”

“Olorin’s help will be required with both father and daughter. But each will assist him as well.”

“You wish me to tell him?”

“No. I suppose all I do need is permission.”

“Thank you for asking, brother. You have my permission and his blessing. Do you need my help beyond that?”

“Come with me to speak with the one in this hall. ‘Magni Derwen’ he is called.”

“What is your plan for him?”

“He will be the first in a bid for redemption.”

“Whose?”

“All of Ennorath.”

*********************

They came to a room where a man, or perhaps the idea of a man, lay on a simple cot in the dark, facing the wall.

“Magni Derwen, we wish to speak with you.”

He rolled over and sat up. They saw that tears ran down his cheeks and he wore a hopeless air.

“Do you know where you are, Magni?” said the blue-eyed figure.

“I did not, but now that I see both of you, I wonder…”

The dark figure spoke. “These are my halls, which some call the halls of waiting.”

“Then I think you must be Lord Namo, and you, Lord Manwë.”

“You are right. Do you know why you are here?”

“I don’t.”

“You were not born in the right time or place. We cannot put you back in that time, but we can return you to… near the place, and give you the choice that should have been yours from the start.”

“What choice? The choice of life as one of the Eldar, or as a mortal man. Before you answer, know that your daughter will returned to this world as well, some years hence, and she will have the same choice.”

“What of my wife, and my mother?”

“They are both mortal. They have a different path.”

Hearing this, the tears came faster down his cheeks. “When must I decide?”

“It is now midday. You may think on it until the day ends. You will hear a bell chime seven times, and I will return to you.”

He bowed his head in assent, and they left him alone again.

“What do you intend for him?”

“I will send him with Olorin to retrieve Thrain.”

“You will restore his crown?”

“No. I will restore his spirit.”

“And the daughter?”

“She will aid Thorin.”

“Does Aulë know that you meddle with his children?”

“He has pleaded with me to help them.”

The two lords of the Valar walked to Namo’s throne, but rather than ascending it, he sat on one of the steps, with Manwë next to him.

Time passes differently in those halls, for what seemed like half a day to Magni was like a breath taken in and released, to them. So in the next moment the bell rang, and he appeared before them.

“If it means I may see my daughter, I will live as one of the Eldar.”

“Thank you, Magni. You are doing us great service. We will send you with Cirdan, sailing back to Mithlond in Ennorath, and he will send you with our servant, Olorin, who in those lands is called Gandalf, or Mithrandir.” He laid his massive hand against the side of Magni’s head, and there was sharp pain, so fleeting, Magni thought it illusory. “Southron and Sindarin should do.”

Magni bowed, and then laughed through his tears.

“What brings you laughter?”

“My daughter and I had something we said whenever we parted, borrowed from another tale, that helped her withstand her fear for me. ‘What do we say to the Lord of Death? Not today Lord, not today.’ But I am saying both no and yes.”

A smile broke through Namo’s solemnity, like the sun through clouds. “Thank you for that, Magni. I will treasure it. Until we next meet, but not for a long time.”

Manwë sent him to Cirdan who took him aboard, and sent one of his birds with a message to Olorin, saying only that help was offered in his journey to Dol Guldur. Magni found the journey to the havens glorious. He loved the sea, and to sail on such a ship, with a master shipwright did much to salve the lingering soreness of his heart. He could not say how long the journey lasted, but it was long enough for him to learn something of weaponry from Cirdan and his crew, and to refresh his knowledge of life under sails.

When they landed at Mithlond, Magni left the ship with many thanks to his shipmates. He found the tall grey-bearded wizard awaiting him on the docks with two horses. The spoke but little on the journey, but enough that Gandalf learned that Magni had once had a family, now lost to him, though he had hopes of one day finding his daughter. When they had slipped into Dol Guldur, Magni was able to see Thrain in the wasted figure offering map and key, and carried him out under Gandalf’s illusion.

The dwarf remembered little, not even his own name. Magni told Gandalf that his purpose was to care for Thrain, and heal him, insofar as healing was possible, and asked where they might live quietly for as long as that required. Gandalf thought hard on this, as there were few places in those days that were safe from the troubles of the world. Finally he decided that the forest of Lorien offered the best chance. Years of torment had left Thrain a shadow of his former strength, and Magni easily carried him on his own steed. The grief-ridden dwarf was content to be free of pain, and fed when hungry. He made no complaint or refusal as they traveled, and came to rely on Magni’s presence, until at last they reached the borders of the Golden Wood.

The march warden was reluctant to let Thrain pass the borders, but on the strength of Gandalf’s friendship with the lady, allowed them entrance. Though Thrain’s body readily regained health, his mind was ravaged by the torments Sauron had in flirted on him in Dol Guldur. Magni remained with him in Lorien for many years and over time in this place of peace, his memory began to return.

He began to recall events from his life, in brief scenes that did not yet fit together. He began to remember war, and that caused him grief. Thrain and Magni spent many occasions speaking of this; of the evils that come to a land at war, of the pain of leading others into harm, and even to death. As much as this brought ease to Thrain, so it it did for Magni. Over time, and shared grief, they became fast friends, and the elves smiled to see them wandering under the golden leaves, in talk.

Though Magni told Thrain only a little of his history, he shared that he had a daughter that he hoped to see again some day. Hearing this, Thrain fell silent, thinking of his sons. Finally, he spoke of them, of Frerin’s death and his abandonment of Thorin and their people, and Magni could see that his friend was now thinking of finding his son. It remained unspoken between them for some time longer, but Thrain, who until now had refused to take up arms in any form, began to join Magni when he practiced with the galadhrim. 

Now all this time, Magni recalled the fate that had come to Thorin as the story had been told in his old life. He had never spoken of it to Thrain, not knowing how much of it to be true. But when Thrain at last came to him saying that he needed to find his son, Magni bade him first ask Galadriel if he might look into her mirror. She consented, and Thrain saw visions both joyous and terrible, with little to show which were true. But in every vision he saw how care weighed upon his son, his dark locks now streaked with silver, and he wept. 

Galadriel bade them wait until they could speak with Gandalf again, as he might know where Thorin could be found. But before they could pursue this, the White Council attacked Dol Guldur, driving Sauron out, whereafter he fled to Mordor. Then Galadriel implored him to speak with Thrain before he traveled to the Woodland Realm, as he already planned, out of concern for Thorin’s company.

Finding that Thrain was much recovered and determined to find his son, Gandalf was reluctant to share what he knew of the quest for Erebor, believing that Thrain might do more harm there than good. But finally he relented, and agreed that Thrain and Magni might travel with him. And so they rode up the Anduin Vale, toward Beorn’s Hall. Gandalf intended they would stop there first, to gather what news they could before taking the elf path, thinking it safer now that Dol Guldur had been cleansed. And so, in late summer, Magni and Thrain set out, little knowing what awaited.


	2. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet our main character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I aim to update once a week, but am starting off with both the prologue and first regular chapter to offer a real taste of the story and characters. I expect the story will be at least 30 chapters, but it could be far longer.

The last day of the All Hallow’s Fantasy Faire was winding down, shadows growing, and prices shrinking as vendors tried to clear the stock they’d otherwise have to carry home. It was one of the largest late autumn events, and Cori’s favorite in the west, apart from Burning Man. (Though she put that in an entirely different category.) Held in a small town in the Sierra foothills, the fair nonetheless drew large and steady crowds, and was more relaxed than most other similar events. No one here worried about historical accuracy, and that meant she could offer a much wider array of her stocks. Unusually cool weather had helped her as well, daily lows dropping into the 40s. When the gates opened each day, it was still chilly, and visitors were eager to buy warmer, and more expensive clothes. She had sold her entire stock of cloaks, and nearly all the boiled wool hats, knit caps, socks, and gloves. She hadn’t brought much of her metalwork as it was difficult to transport, and didn’t sell as well. She counted herself lucky in her profits, as this would likely be her last event until spring. 

A week ago, when she’d arrived in town, she’d called home, to let her mother know she had made it safely. The conversation had somehow worried her. At 65, Cori’s mother was still hale and hearty; she’d been bragging of her latest adventures rock-climbing on Cathedral Ledge. She was not the cause of concern, but she had mentioned that Cori’s gran was feeling a little under the weather, and would be glad of Cori’s help getting her wood stacked for the winter. When she’d last seen her gran, in August, she’d seemed her usual self, having just finished painting her barn, with Cori’s help. She’d refused to hire someone for something she could “darn well do herself, better and cheaper,” and Cori’s help had been the only concession she’d been willing to make to her age.

Both her mom and gran were the kind who were always busy doing and making, like Cori herself. For Gran to have left her wood unstacked for this long was unheard of. According to her mother, Gran had refused her help, as usual, but had left it laying in the pile where her wood guy had dumped it, until finally asking when Cori would be home to help. Cori hadn’t bothered asking why her mom hadn’t helped. Gran always refused her daughter-in-law, somehow accepting it made her feel old in a way that Cori’s help did not.

With such thoughts weighing on her, Cori refused the offer of last-day drinks with Martin and Sylvie. They’d known each other on the event circuit for many years, and Cori had sometimes joined their camp for Burning Man. They might be the closest thing to friends Cori had, but even at the best of times, Cori was not much for casual chatter and kept largely to herself, preferring to read or knit in the solitude of her tent, or wander the desert alone. She could sometimes be persuaded to join in a group, if there was singing, and she wasn’t too exhausted. Tonight though, she was both tired and worried, and wished she had booked that night’s red-eye out of Oakland to Boston, despite needing a day to pack and ship everything back to Maine.

When she arrived at the Jetport two days later, a chill wind nipped at her as she made the hike to long-term parking where she’d left her truck. Though the air was cold, she inhaled it deeply, grateful for it’s freshness after the dust and pollution she’d had to endure driving around California. She headed out, looking forward to the quiet roads that would take her west, toward home. It was only mid afternoon, but the sun was already low in the sky, painting the trees and frost-killed grasses with warm russets and tarnished golds. The oaks were still stubbornly holding their leaves, and the pines were thick with cones. Cori loved this time of year; well past peak foliage, but the sunlight was redder, never rising all the way overhead, and making all the colors rich.

She reached her mother’s house, a little way out of town, looking west over the intervale, toward the White Mountains. She let herself in and was surprised by the quiet. Usually her mom had music, or Maine Public Radio going when she was in the house. She spied a note propped up on the kitchen table. Clearly dashed off in haste, it told her that gran had been taken to the hospital; they thought it might be heart trouble. Her mom had wisely given the time when she wrote, and looking at the clock, Cori realized they might have reached the hospital only half an hour before her arrival. She called her mom’s cell number, and waited impatiently for an answer.

“Cori, I’m glad to hear from you; the doctors are in with Gran now.” Though her mother’s voice was firm, Cori could tell she was trying to hide the strain.

“What happened? Should I come over there?”

“Not yet, Cor. Let’s wait to see if what’s going on. Once I talk to the doctor, I’ll call you back, and then we’ll decide what to do. There’s soup on the stove, and some fresh bread, so go ahead and eat, if you’re hungry. I know they hardly give you anything on flights anymore.” 

“Ok, I’ll eat and shower, and wait to hear from you. If you talk to Gran, tell her I love her, and she’d better not stand me up for our wood-stacking date.” It was a feeble joke, but they both pretended to laugh, each hoping to encourage the other. “I love you, Mom.” 

“I love you, little acorn. Talk to you soon.”

Cori felt a real smile curl her lips, hearing the childhood endearment. Her gran had always called her that, a play on their family name. Sighing, she put her phone back in her pocket and got herself some soup. It was one of her favorites, mulligatawny, and the bread was dark and chewy, studded with walnuts, cranberries, and bits of apple. Sinking into the familiar tastes and sitting in the kitchen where she’d lived longest of anywhere, it was hard to imagine anything had changed. After her father’s mysterious death in Bahrain, investigating charges of misconduct in a rogue naval unit, it had been her and Mom in the house, and Gran in the cottage, for four years, almost unchanging, until Cori had gone to college. Then they’d found a new routine, until she’d graduated and rather than pursue law, or editing, or technical writing or anything else her career counselor suggested would suit her English BA, Cori had focused her attention on what had started as hobbies. “Fibre Arts,” and “Fire Arts,” as they were sometimes called, had proved to be profitable, and allowed her to maintain the quiet, mostly solitary life she preferred. 

Cori had moved home after college, and thanks to a gift from a distant uncle, had several thousand dollars waiting. It was supposed to fund some kind of travel abroad, but Cori had instead bought a loom, a spinning wheel, a large quantity of roving, and paid for a booth at the local county fair, which had been running for over 100 years. She was lucky that year; hand knits, felted trim and the like were coming back into fashion. She made enough to buy even more wool, and llama fiber as well. A few people at the fair had taken her card and contacted her later about commissioning custom wall hangings, and blankets for gifts, which, along with building up stock for the next event, would keep her busy all the next year.

After that she’d branched into metal work as well, which she found deeply satisfying, but far less financially rewarding than her work with fibers. It remained largely a hobby, though she occasionally made a sale that at least paid for the time she spent honing her skills. In pursuing these crafts, she became a familiar face on the regional circuit of historical and maker fairs, but she held herself apart, never forming close ties with anyone.

She fell back into the old pattern from high school, living at home with her mom, with monthly travel to sell her work at all kinds of events, from renaissance to maker faires, craft shows and gaming conventions. When she was home, she wove, and smithed, and, when she needed a brake from the loom or the forge, she wander the mountains and forests around her home, often returning with pockets full of stones that she couldn’t resist gathering. She arranged them in piles and walls and arches on the mantle, the window sills, on shelves and radiator tops until her mother insisted any ore be left outside.

“Your father was just the same. He gathered them at every base when chance allowed. I think he even took some on the ship.” Cori could easily believe it. She always had a few with her, even when she flew. It never occurred to her that it might be odd. She knew many who collected shells, or sea glass, or driftwood. If she’d had more time, she might have taken up masonry, but as it was, she was content being surrounded by tiny stone walls.

****************

And so following this new pattern, Cori lived with her mom and practiced her craft, and travelled to fairs and craft shows all around the country. She gradually refined her skills and raised her prices, developing specialties for which she was known. She quickly learned that while wealthy tourists were good for ambitious and costly commissions, cosplayers were the steadiest market for items that were easy for her to make, yet still brought in a good profit. Not everyone could pay, but she was often willing to trade her wares for lessons. So she picked up a nodding acquaintance with glass-blowing and jewelry-making, as well as learning to ride, and to brew beer. For all that these were sociable exchanges, she kept a distance from others, often not seeming to even notice offers of deeper friendship, or anything else.

Since when not on the road Cori was living at home, her expenses were minimal. She helped with the garden and the baking and errands, and she aided her gran with all those things that were apparently permitted to a granddaughter, but not a daughter-in-law. She was able to focus on her crafts, and on her stones, and still have time for reading, especially during the winter months when roaming outside was not so pleasant as roaming through a book, or the fantastic landscapes that others shared online. When she began to travel further, eventually across country, she began to realize her good fortune. Many others hadn’t the time to wander and read, nor do much of anything else outside the multiple jobs that were needed to afford rent, or a mortgage. 

She began devoting some of her profits to groups that supported indigenous people, and people of color in her home state. Involvement with these groups led her to realize that many things were not as she’d imagined. But unlike the stories she liked so well, the injustice and the corruption were sometimes far more subtle, until in the blink of an eye, they were suddenly horribly clear. There were times that she wondered what her father would have thought of all this, and other times she was glad he was no longer alive to see it.

It was in some ways, a trying time for Cori, her mother and gran. None of the three were blind to the brokenness of the system, but it was often hard to see what they could do, besides writing letters and giving money. And it was not clear that those things really accomplished much, anyway. Even worse, they began to see that some of their neighbors were still blind, and didn’t even realize it.

Now, sitting and waiting for her mom to call back, Cori realized that something had changed for her gran years earlier. As the country grew more divided, and every day seemed to bring worse news than the day before, she sometimes caught her gran gazing out over the meadows around her cottage, deep in thought. Once, on the anniversary of her father’s death, she heard her gran whisper to herself, “I always thought I’d go back. That we’d go back.”

She hadn’t known what Gran meant, and hadn’t asked, feeling she shouldn’t intrude on a private moment of grief. Now she felt a pang of fear realizing that perhaps she would never have the chance to ask her gran about this, or anything. Cori wished then that she felt any kind of faith in higher powers. She’d taken a class in comparative cosmology and found it interesting, but none of the systems felt right to her. Surely a religion one really believed should feel different, she had always thought. But none of them did.

Finally her phone buzzed and she snatched it up. “Mom, what’s going on?”

“They still don’t know. It just seems like she’s fading away. I think you’s better come, as soon as you can.” Her mother’s voice trembled on the final words, and Cori silently cursed herself for waiting. 

“Ok, Mom, I’ll be there in 20 minutes; the roads are empty at this hour.” She raced down the back roads for as much of the route as she could, avoiding traffic lights and hoping not to find any deer or moose. The moon was rising, and looked enormous through the trees; Cori welcomed the extra light on the dark roads. At 45, her night vision was still excellent, but moose were hard to see, even so. She realized with a shock that when her mom had been 38, Cori had been six. She somehow hadn’t registered the time passing, especially once she began traveling further afield.

Cori rushed into the ER, and found her mother hunched in a chair, her face pinched with worry. She sat down and put her arm around the older woman’s shoulders. When had her mother’s hair gotten so white? 

“They’re running some more tests, but so far, they haven’t found anything that would explain…” Her mother couldn’t finish that sentence.

“But what happened?”

“I don’t know… she was so strange. She called me this afternoon, and I couldn’t understand what she was talking about. She said that she’d thought we’d all go back much sooner, but when… when your father died, she knew she’d been wrong, or had misunderstood. And then she said, she couldn’t wait any longer, she was having trouble remembering, and growing so tired. That’s when I told her to wait for me, and I called 911, and rushed over. By the time the EMTs arrived, it seemed as thought she was a sleep, but they couldn’t wake her.” She shuddered with a suppressed sob.

As they sat waiting, Cori thought about how aimless her life had become. She had met some goals in crafting, but she’d lost sight of why she was doing it, and now it felt like the ground of her life was shifting under her feet. “Mom. Do you know if Gran is happy? Are you happy? I know what each of you does; we talk about that often. But I don’t know how you feel. I’m not sure how I feel, besides terrified right now. How did I go for years without even noticing?”

“Those are big questions, Cor, and this isn’t really the place to give you answers. Let’s get through the night, and we can talk at home, after.”

Of course, her mother was right, Cori thought, but the feeling nagged at her that she’d missed something vital, somewhere. That feeling was interrupted at last, when a doctor came out to see them. One look at her face let them know that she brought bad news.

“We can’t find any reason for the decline. Sometimes when people get old, they just decide they’ve had enough.” The doctor’s gentle tone did little to soften the blow dealt by her words. “Do you know of any reason she might have become depressed?”

The simple question stabbed at Cori, already berating herself for not knowing how Gran had been feeling. Her mother’s answer drew her attention back to the present.

“I think something changed late in 2016. And it wasn’t just her being unhappy about the election. She didn’t like that, but by the new year, it was like she was certain that something she’d feared had happened. Something worse than …” Her mother trailed off, remembering how conservative some of their neighbors were. The doctor gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I know what you mean. That could explain what we are seeing, and while sometimes these things turn around, I think she’s made a choice. I’ll take you back to see her… Is one of you named ‘Cori’?”

“I am; I’m her granddaughter.”

“I think she’s waiting for you both.”

Looking at the tears already running down her mother’s face, Cori steeled herself, determined to keep herself together. If there was nothing else she could do, she could at least do that. “Ok. I think we’re ready.” She rose, and laced her mother’s arm through her own, supporting her down the empty hall to a room in the ICU.

The room was dim, with a circle of light cast on the bed from a standing lamp. Cori’s grandmother looked small and pale, though like Cori, she was around 5’8”. Were it not for the monitors measuring her heartbeat, she might have seemed gone already. As it was, the rhythm was steady, but oddly slow. They each sat on one side of the the bed, and took her hands in theirs.

“Mom, we’re here. Me and Cori.” There was a faint answering squeeze to Cori’s fingers, and she saw that her gran’s lips moved, but she couldn’t hear the words. They both leaned over, her mother’s faded red strands and her own dark auburn mingling with her gran’s silver locks on the pillow.

Straining to listen, they could just make out the whispered words.

“I thought I would go back. That I was spared for a reason, or that Magni was. But we never did, and then he died. Now I think it was just a mercy, and I will only return in death. I’m sorry, my loves. I can’t wait any longer.”

The heartbeats on the monitor slowed even further, and then stopped. 

Cori leaned in to kiss her gran’s cheek, one last time, while her mother sat frozen. When Cori rose, her mother shook herself, and kissed her mother as well, then wandered from the room as if lost. Cori followed, only stopping to make sure they could take time to discover Gran’s wishes about a burial, or other arrangement.

Her mother had stopped outside the hospital doors and was staring up at the stars, but with eyes unseeing. Cori gently guided her back to the truck, where she got in automatically, and sat in silence until they were home. Each went to her room, whether to weep, or sleep, or curse that night’s fate; they didn’t speak again until morning.


	3. Seasons of Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes and leads to mystery, but further disasters prevent working it out, and instead Cori withdraws from life almost completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter in our world, and there are hints that I'm sure you clever readers can put together far more easily than Cori does. She's too busy trying to avoid facing her grief, and in the process turning into a bit of a prepper.

Waking, Cori was stricken anew by the knowledge that Gran was gone. She doggedly set aside those painful thoughts and focused on the puzzle of her gran’s last words. It was odd how her fear of never understanding those words from years ago had not only been realized, but the words had been repeated. She rolled over and thumped her pillow in frustration. Why hadn’t she asked about that before? She hoped her mother might know something about it. With that, she swung her feet onto the cold oaken floor and slid them into her woolen slippers, dark green with pattern of acorn clusters felted onto them. Grabbing her robe against the early November chill, she followed the sounds of coffee brewing down the wide steps to the kitchen, where her mother was listlessly stirring some oatmeal.

The older woman mechanically prepared and served it, along with glasses of cider and mugs of the coffee. Cori was grateful for the familiar and comforting routine, but her mother didn’t seem to find it as soothing. When they both were sitting, Cori carefully broke the silence. 

“What do we do today?” Her mother took a deep breath, visibly gathering herself together.

“I left a message with Gran’s lawyer, so they can start whatever process. I suppose we’ll go to her house, and look at her last instructions. I should have pushed it when she told me she’d written them up, but she passed it off as just being sensible. That was right after Sally, you know from the library, had died. So it seemed reasonable. And maybe it was… I don’t know.”

“I’ve been kicking myself too. I felt like something was off back in 2016, and then nothing happened…” Her mother nodded.

“I suppose losing your father was the start, but of course that changed her. Who loses a child and doesn’t change? Maybe this was inevitable, after that. Or maybe I’m trying to assuage my own guilt.” Her eyes, reddened with crying, welled up again. Hoping to interrupt that line of thought, Cori interjected.

“What about the things she said? I’ve heard that from her before, on the anniversary of…”

“She said it when he died, too. I remember that day like it just happened. You were still away at school when the news came. I was so angry. He wasn’t supposed to even be there, not really. Someone else was to have gone, but something happened and he went instead, and then…” She broke off and closed her eyes, clenching her teeth in an effort not to break down. “I could never shake the thought that it was planned. To get rid of him, to cover something up, because they knew he wouldn’t look the other way. Cori cursed herself for bringing up the old wound, but then her mother went on.

“Mom and I were together when they came. We were planting the first apple trees in the orchard. Magni was supposed to have been back, to be done, but then he was given this one last case…” She swallowed hard. “Anyway. Those officers came into the yard, and I just knew. But your gran seemed utterly shocked. Like she had never imagined that her son, a veteran of several wars, had ever been at risk. It was strange, really. And then she said the same as last night. That she thought they’d go back.”

“Go back where?”

“I don’t know. I knew she came here as a young woman, but your father never said where she came from. I’m not sure if he knew. It would have been in the ‘30s or ’40s, I think. There were lots of people coming from Europe back then, and the records weren’t always accurate. I don’t even know if ‘Tanna Derwen’ was really her name.”

“I know ‘Derwen’ means oak, from that family tree thing we did in middle school. I guess I never realized there was any question, because that assignment only went back as far as grandparents. What about Tanna, though?”

“I’m not sure. I think she once told me it meant ‘a sign,’ but I don’t know what language that would be. Not a modern one. I guess I assumed it was something old. Does it ring any bells?”

Cori thought. It had been a while since she’d had reason to remember all of those roots and stems from Old English, Old Saxon, and Old High German, and they were a little jumbled in her head. “It could be Old High German; a word that means ‘oak.’ Maybe linguistic humor? I mean, she picked out ‘Magni,’ after all. I wouldn’t have put it past her.” As Cori had hoped, her mother smiled a little. It was a running joke between them that Cori had refused a typical career path in favor of fiber arts because her parents were flower children who had named their daughter ‘heart of the oak.’ Cori thought it was funny because nothing could be further from the the truth, and it had been an easy way to wind her dad up. 

“I guess we’ll see what we find when we sort through her papers. I had thought of starting in on it today, but I’m not sure I can, yet. I think I’d keep expecting to see her.”

“I can go over, Mom. I think that part is a little easier for me, since I don’t…didn’t see her all the time.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to dump all that on you.”

“It’s ok. Let me do this for you, please?”

“Alright. I think… I think I’m just going to lay down for awhile.” She went upstairs to her room, and pulled open a drawer in her nightstand. She took out a wedding album commemorating the marriage of Emma Caldwell and Magni Derwen. They were both so young. Looking through the photos, Emma marveled again at how handsome Magni had been. Tall, strong, and with a thick shock of dark hair that flopped over his eyes, usually. She’d threatened to pin it out of the way, so that she could see them, clear and grey, like a a stormy sky. She wasn’t short at 5’6”, but at 6’3”, he had still towered over her. Tanna had been a few inches shorter than he, and back then, when her hair was still dark, they almost could have been siblings. No silver had appeared in it until after Magni’s death. 

She pulled out another album, from Cori’s senior year in high school. By then, he had a just few laugh lines, and a short but thick beard. Most didn’t notice because he looked so young, but his eyes were tired. By then he was nearing the end of more than 20 years of active service. The early days hadn’t been easy, though he was already Lt. Commander when they married. Moving every few years had been hard on her, and harder on Cori, once she came along. 

Once he’d made Captain, Magni had suggested they decide where they wanted to put down roots, and was delighted when both Emma and Cori had instantly chosen the town where he had grown up. It was no surprise, really. Summers with Gran had been the steadiest thing in either of their lives with him. But by the time she and Cori had moved to Maine for high school, Cori had given up on making friends. She’d immersed herself in books and easily portable crafts. Gran was the only person she’d open up to, and they’d spend hours together at the cottage. Emma smiled over pictures of Cori, Magni, and Gran shooting at the big straw target. Magni had been an avid bow hunter when he was younger, and while Cori was not much interested in killing anything, it was something she and her father could do together, and she cherished that. She turned the page. There were Cori and Magni singing together; Magni had loved the old songs of the sea and sailing, and taught many to Cori.

Looking at the old albums somehow comforted her. Maybe because they reminded her that she had survived loss before. Or maybe by reassuring her that no matter what else, she’d had a good life, with family she loved, and it had all led to Cori, who was still with her. She could hold on to that, at least. 

It was the first of many days in which Cori worked on sorting things out at her gran’s cottage while her mother sleepwalked through the hours, following routines of raking leaves, pruning roses, and putting her gardens to bed. Floral death and decay were far easier to confront, carrying, as they always did, the promise of rebirth.

  


*****************

  


In the end, Cori handled everything at Gran’s cottage. Her mother had decided that she didn’t want her last memories to be of it being emptied, and anyway, Gran had left it to Cori in her will. But it wasn’t going to be empty for long. Realizing that with Gran gone, she couldn’t just leave her mother alone when spring came and fairs resumed, Cori had started working out how to do business from one place. She’d let Sylvie and Martin know not to expect her anywhere that year, and had been surprised by their disappointment. 

Renting out Gran’s cottage for at least a few weeks during the summer and fall would help make up for lost profits, and so the furniture was all staying put, and all the kitchen gear; everything else would be packed into the attic or the barn. Cori hated the necessity, but her years of moving had taught her to be pragmatic about places and things. And it was better than selling.

By mid December, she had carefully sorted and boxed up each room, and was emptying one of the last old chests stacked in Gran’s work room. Setting aside some very odd old clothes, she found several leather-bound journals. Opening one, she found entries in her gran’s hand. They were notes from a lecture on Old English Prosody, given at St. Hugh’s College, Oxford. Flipping through the journal, it was clear that gran had been a student there, and her tutor had been a Professor Tolkien. Cori blinked. Never mind that her gran had apparently studied with one of her favorite authors and never said a thing about it, but if her Gran had been 85 this year, then these were written 13 years before her birth… Maybe she had constructed an elaborate fantasy, though she’d never seemed the kind to allow herself any illusions.

Cori looked at another journal. This one was a hand made glossary between what she immediately recognized as Quenya and Sindarin, in both the Cirth and Tengwar. Cori had amused herself and her classmates one semester by translating Old English riddles into both languages and alphabets; some were the same as the riddles Bilbo had traded with Gollum. Cori whipped out her phone and started scanning through one of the most reliable Tolkien sites. Those alphabets had not been published in any form until much later than the dates in this journal. 

Setting that worn leather tome aside as well, she lifted a sheaf of papers out next. There were records of her gran’s attendance at St. Hugh, and then some newspaper clippings about the freedom lines that had helped Allied soldiers trapped in Axis territories, escape to friendly territory. Had Gran been part of that? Had she somehow left Britain that way? Cori put everything carefully back into the chest, and carried it out to her truck. She hoped her mom could shed some light on it all.

When she got home, her mother was in the garden, pruning spent canes off the raspberry bushes. She had accumulated a large pile of brush, and an impressive collection of scratches. 

“Mom, I’ve finished up at at Gran’s, and I found some really weird stuff. Are you about done? I want to see what you think of it.” Emma could not think of a good reason to refuse; all the bushes had been thoroughly pruned; so she nodded and put her loppers away in the barn. 

Once inside, she easily agreed to Cori rubbing salve into her scratches, if only to delay looking at whatever papers she’d found. But the time came when she couldn’t delay any longer without actually admitting that she was avoiding them.

Emma didn’t really register the significance of the glossary of strange runes; fantasy had never been her preference. But when Cori started talking about how the dates didn’t add up, her attention was caught. She brought out all of the family photo albums she had, including some that Gran had given her, and they looked at the earliest. There was Gran, looking too young to match the dates of the journals. After puzzling over all of it for a week, they thought to check the website for the town’s historical society, which had recently begun digitizing their records. If those were right, Gran had arrived in town in 1944, to occupy a cottage built in 1904 by her own grandmother. But it seemed it was her grandmother by adoption. And she had a son with her, Magni, who was recorded as being 20, at the time. That didn’t line up with anything, and they thought there had to be some kind of error, somewhere. But Christmas was approaching, and they shelved it all. 

For awhile, holiday baking and working on a website through which to sell her work took of all of Cori’s time. She was cautiously hopeful that her mom was making her way through the forest of grief she’d been lost in since Gran died, following the scents of cinnamon and apples and burning pine boughs back to life in the present. Cori herself had managed to subsume much of her sorrow in work, as she usually did, and she’d been dutifully calling her senators and representatives to support causes she felt were important. She wasn’t sure it made any difference, but she had always felt obliged to do what she could, whenever the chance arose. Heavy snows kept them close to home, except for the occasional shopping trip for groceries. 

In late January, they were graced with the usual thaw, and Cori drove up to Norway, to her favorite yarn store. She stopped by the local brewery as well, and when she mentioned how much she liked their red ale, she was escorted behind the scenes to see the mash and lauter tuns, the fermenting tanks, and all the rest. It was interesting, and reminded her that she hadn’t learned anything new in months. Perhaps a new craft would help fill the emptiness Gran had left behind.

She began experimenting with home brewing, going beyond the basics knowledge she’d learned in trade over the years, which led to investigation of brewing sculpture, and then sidetracking to glassblowing when for some reason, YouTube decided that was what she wanted to see next. All of which served to further distract her from grief, and from the strangely painful mystery. 

A few weeks later, Cori started seeing reports of something spreading from China, similar to SARS. She worried for the people over there, but didn’t think much of it, until she read that it had a two week incubation period. Then she went into a panic, having just read a story about a deadly plague that spread worldwide before anyone realized, because no one knew they had it, for weeks. She bought a box of masks, and stocked up food to last several weeks. No one else seemed to be concerned yet, but it made her feel better. Her mother was still drifting along, and didn’t really notice.

Very few cases reached Maine, initially. Cori and her mother both took on shopping for more elderly neighbors in town, since it seemed most dangerous for them. They both made wills and set their affairs in order, not because they really thought they were at risk, but because sorting out Gran had been painful, and her estate had been fairly straightforward. They didn’t speak of that reason, but it was in the silence after they’d agreed to call the lawyer. They easily let Gran’s cottage to some wealthy folk who hoped to avoid illness by hiding out in Maine, and who needed to rent a place until they found one to buy.

For the next several months, the pandemic and the upcoming presidential primaries dominated everyone’s thoughts. Cori could have made time to dig into her gran’s past, but she was reluctant to stir up the grief that had been handily subsumed in shared global horror. Her mother seemed to feel the same, and when they sat together in the evening making masks for those who would otherwise lack them, they talked about vaccine research, whether schools would open in the fall, and how lucky they felt to be in a tiny town where it was easy to avoid crowds, even when tourists came, against all advice.

And then one morning in May, Emma felt a sharp pain in her chest, and had only a moment to say ‘Cori’ before she collapsed before her daughter’s horrified eyes. She was pronounced dead when the EMT’s arrived. Apparently, you could have that plague without even knowing, the first symptom being death. Cori was furious over the politics that she felt had left them at the mercy of this terrible illness. She began writing more letters and making more phone calls, and even sometimes marching against the people she held responsible. She half hoped to get sick and die herself, though she would have denied this. 

  


*****************

  


Coming so soon after Gran’s, her mother’s death knocked Cori from the anxiety of the spring to a dissociated haze that lasted months. She worked on daily and seasonal chores without thinking beyond the next day, or beyond her own yard. Now and then, one of her gran’s or mother’s friends would try to check on her, but it was easy to put them off, since they were all elderly, and they avoided visiting in person. And if one or two did drop by, much could be hidden behind a mask. She did not get sick. Cori had never gotten sick. It was perhaps a little odd, but her gran had always smiled, and commented that it was just the same with her father, which made it seem just another shared trait, like her grey eyes and dark hair, though that had been reddened by her mother’s ginger.

In mid July, the wealthy people left the cottage, and Cori moved in. She transferred everything she cared about from her mother’s house, including all of her stones, and then offered it, at a nominal rental fee, to a native Penobscot group that campaigned for indigenous rights. Still in the ‘hoping for a quick death’ mode, she changed her will, leaving the house to them, if anything happened to her. She hardly needed two, and over the last half year had come to feel the weight of colonial history was just too much, on top of everything else.

By August, she had gathered everything she needed at the cottage, installed solar panels and a wind turbine. She mocked herself for paranoia, but she was tired of the power going out during windstorms and road work. She was also tired of people, and planned to only go back to town once a month, for necessities. She read news stories about how people struggled with the isolation, and wondered about her own indifference, but it seemed as good a way to survive as any other. She eventually began sorting through more of Gran’s papers, but still couldn’t make any sense of the dates. She tried searching genealogical websites, to no avail. 

The Caldwells were easy to trace, though none were left now. But the Derwens were a mystery. The woman listed as original owner of the cottage, and the one who’d paid all the taxes was T. Derwen, with no other record of where she came from, or who she married. In the state’s online records, the deed to the cottage and its three acres was signed over to Cori’s gran in 1940, also T. Derwen. In another old journal, there were pictures of Gran and her father as a boy tucked into the leaves, but their clothing looked out of date.

Cori ran out of energy for any of this. As the pandemic grew worse and worse all over the country, even the simplest tasks began to feel exhausting. She found herself brewing cup after cup of coffee, to get anything done during the day, and then drinking far too much in order to sleep at night. She finally swore off the coffee, because she was trying to cut back on the liquor. 

For weeks, she spun and wove and tried not to think of anything. Her only solace was being able to walk out her door and see beautifully colorful trees, and mountains. Her feeders were busy with chickadees, and nuthatches, and woodpeckers. She had rebuilt the walls and cairns and arches all over the cottage. It would have been idyllic if she and the entire world were not in mourning.

After a couple more weeks, Cori was only ambushed by grief once or twice a day. She found that forcing herself to follow a routine, and a plan, helped. She made herself a warm winter coat with a llama fiber lining, and topped by a thick layer of boiled wool, felted with tiny acorns and oak leaves along the hem. An oiled leather layer could be buttoned on for extra warmth and waterproofing. She added new long fingerless gloves in brown, with thicker leather gloves to wear over them. A matching karakul hat made of boiled wool, llama fiber, and leather rather than lambskin completed her winter gear. Focusing on stitch after stitch kept her from falling into despair. Metal work was harder to do at the cottage, but she found an old hammer and anvil in the barn and watched videos, and tried to learn more than the basics she already knew. If she did survive, maybe she’d pursue it. 

She had methodically collected seeds during the summer and fall, and ordered grow lights. A notion of living off of all her own produce, and the energy she could generate at the cottage had taken root. She read about leaving a zero-carbon footprint, and while she was not naive enough to think it would make much real difference, the idea of disappearing niggled at her thoughts. She was just so tired. Even though the grief had receded a little, she wanted nothing to do with the world anymore. She kept giving money to the causes she’d chosen, but grew more and more withdrawn from any human connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know Maine, the Norway mentioned is a town, not the country.


	4. Strange Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After drowning her grief in a bottle, Cori wakes to find that she and her entire cottage are somewhere else entirely. She is found by someone willing to help, and she begins to think about really living again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the action has shifted to Ennorath (Middle Earth). I will not be adding many words in elven tongues or dwarvish. Cori taught herself the former while still in our world, and she wakes up speaking Westron.

Struggling to find a reason to leave her bed each day, Cori began embroidering a portrait based on a picture her gran had printed and framed, from the summer before her father died. They had been picnicking on the river bank when a neighbor who was taking pictures of the mountains, had caught them in the frame and sent them the image. Her father and mother were seated on a fallen log, pressed together, enjoying every moment of closeness they could snatch during the visit. Cori sat in the sand at her father’s feet, leaning against his legs, and his hand rested on her hair. Gran was on the log as well, near her mother, and turned toward her, hand on her arm, saying something that had made them all smile. Behind them. It was a favorite picture for each of them and they each had kept a copy near. Looking at the original, Cori noticed again how young they all looked, and then glanced at the mirror. She still looked young, but her father’s youthful looks made her wonder a little. Most others of his rank had at least a few grey hairs. 

The needlework was painstaking and felt like a fitting tribute to those she’d lost. That project carried her into October. The night she finished and hung the portrait, she could not escape her thoughts about why she was bothering with any of it, so she resorted to cruder means, and found peace in the bottom of a wine bottle or two.

Some time in the small hours of the morning, she woke to the sensation of falling. As it was still quite dark, she staggered to the bathroom, and then back to bed. When she woke again, it was light, but she was struck by strangeness immediately. Rather than sun streaming through the window across from the bed and waking her, sun was entering from the window to her right. Had she slept so late that it was midday already? After all the wine, maybe. Her head was pounding, which lent strength to that notion, though usually wine had less effect on her than on most. She wandered down stairs, stirred the coals in the stove, and put a kettle on to boil. She noticed that many of her small arches had tumbled down, and frowned, wondering if mice had already started coming in out of the cold. While she waited for her kettle, she unfolded the quaint old toaster, and set it up with some slices from yesterday’s loaf. Once she had a mug of tea and several slices of buttered toast and honey, she went to the window to see if the feeder needed more seeds, and stopped in her tracks.

Rather than open meadows looking toward the evergreen-covered Presidential range, Cori was looking out over a river valley bounded by oaks, beeches and elms and on one side, much steeper mountains. Not too far off, she could see another dwelling that was surrounded by a hedge. She considered that she might still be dreaming in some wine induced stupor, and decided that the best plan was to just sleep it off. She lay down on the couch and fell into a light doze. Some time later she was awakened by a fierce banging on her door. Stumbling to open it, she found an enormous man with a thick black beard poised to angrily knock again. They looked at each other in shock for a moment, and then he said, “who are you, and by what right are you on my land?”

“I… I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m on your land. I didn’t mean to be. I fell asleep on my own land, and now I and my cottage are here. Er. Where is this?”

“You are near the edge of Greenwood the Great, though now most call it Mirkwood.”

“Oh. That is… well. I… I’m sorry to intrude. I’m afraid I don’t know how to remove myself. Maybe I could ask a wizard… do you know any wizards?” 

“Yes.”

Cori waited, but he didn’t say anything else. He just stared at her in a considering way, and while it was one of the more awkward silences she’d ever suffered, she just looked back, still feeling like her thoughts had yet to catch up. At least until a large and shaggy grey dog trotted up and sniffed at her curiously. She didn’t look at it, but held out her hand. After a moment’s more sniffing, she felt a furry head pushed against her palm, and gently began scratching around his ears. The dog licked her fingers and offered a series of growly snorts before trotting back toward the gate in the thorn hedge.

“Hmmm. He likes you. Come for supper when the sun touches the treetops.” The man turned and left without speaking further, and Cori retreated into her house.

Once inside, she sank onto a chair as her thoughts slowly settled into a strange calm. Unless she had gone mad with grief (and that still might be the case) she had somehow landed in Ennorath. She suddenly noticed that she thought ‘Ennorath’ rather than ‘Middle Earth.’ Thinking the latter made her head pound even harder. If she hadn’t lost her mind, then maybe this somehow explained some of the mysteries around Gran? But she couldn’t work that out on her own. If she was lucky, the man, whom she now guessed might be Beorn, would have have some idea. If he didn’t, she’d have to try a wizard. Or the elves. Cori started to laugh, and barely avoided hysteria as she considered what she had just thought. She clenched her hands until the pain of her nails digging into her palms broke through her panic. 

She took a deep breath and thought about what she needed to do first, avoiding any questions about what the future might be. If she were really in Ennorath, she needed to take stock of what she had and what she needed, to survive. She had plenty of clothes. She had enough wood to get through the winter, if winters here were comparable to those in Maine. Thanks to the pandemic, she had learned to keep at least month’s worth of everything on hand. She hoped that would be enough time to figure out living here. She ended up with three things on her list of what needed to be done today. She needed to do something about food that might spoil; a chore that had come with buying in large quantities once a month. She needed to work out when she was, and she needed to make something to bring over for supper. Cori had rarely socialized even before it became impossible, but she knew the rules. It occurred to her that here she could visit without fear of catching or spreading anything, and she felt a strange combination of guilt and euphoria churning in her gut.

Recalling that in the books, Beorn had forbidden meat at his table, she was relieved to find no meat in the fridge. Today she had been planning to pick up a large order from the local farm stand, and she was glad she’d not gone earlier. The only thing that would quickly spoil were the hot house blueberries she’d splurged on, and maybe the cream. She reckoned that making blueberry scones would let her cross two things off her list, but if she made them right now, they might be a little dry by supper. They could wait a bit. She hoped that if she could get on good terms with Beorn, and he let her stay, she could trade him something for food and protection. How much protection depended on the exact year; some had been far more dangerous than others, from what she could recall, but she would need to check. Looking at the sun, she guessed it was a little past noon, if she’d landed in the same season that she’d left. She made another pot of tea, and gathered all her Tolkien books.

After reading everything she could about Beorn, Cori concluded that she had landed sometime between 2800 and 2941, the year Thorin’s company had passed through, on their quest to reclaim Erebor. She rather hope it was earlier in that span. Though Cori was skilled at many things, and was strong enough, apart from bow hunting, she had little skill with weapons. She had learned something of swords and staves at renaissance faires, but knew nothing of real combat. She grimaced at the thought that she might have to learn anyway, if Beorn, or someone, would teach her. No point in thinking about it now though. Those possibilities were firmly in the box of ‘things to worry about later.’ Looking at the lengthening shadows of the trees, she put away the books and started on the scones.

As they baked, she thought about what it might mean if she had truly been transported to a world she had believed fictional. Did that mean everything in those stories was true? Would Beorn turn into a bear? She suddenly thought about being able to meet the characters she had found so enthralling, and for the first time in almost a year, she cared about seeing the next day, and the day after that.

  


*******************

  


When they were done, Cori wrapped the warm scones in a napkin and set them into a basket. She put on her coat against a chill that crept into valley as the sun dropped lower, and walked across the field to the wide gate set into the thorny hedge. Letting herself in, she immediately noticed the rows of hives and truly enormous bees floating around them. She couldn’t resist walking over for a closer look. One of the bees landed on her arm, and she watched it for a few minutes, and then it flew off again. She was accustomed to the bumble bees that visited her mother’s garden. These were much larger, but seemed as benign. She took a few moments to admire the flowers blooming here. She recognized all of them, which meant the seeds she had would almost certainly grow. She wondered if these bees would enjoy hyssop and lavender as much as the bees in Maine. Then she wondered if she was really so set on surviving when it already felt like so much work. But again, the chance to see the world…as a child, she would have given almost anything for it to be real.

Thoughts of laying down to die breached her personal ethics; all year she had struggled to cast them out, and to keep on living. She felt a tendril of hope sprout in her heart, that maybe finding a reason to go on would be easier, here. As she came closer to the house she saw flowers, especially clover, running wild, and only a few slightly more organized garden beds. She wondered if Beorn would mind her planting something more elaborate. Turning back to the strange house, she saw that the enormous wooden doors stood open, so she walked in. Her host was carrying a large pitcher and a plate of cheese to the table, that was already laden with bread and fruit.

“Hullo. We didn’t really meet before; I’m Cori. I brought some scones.”

Setting everything down, her host turned an appeasing look on her. “Hmmm. I am Beorn. Put those here.” He gestured for her to sit and took his own place across from her. Before he could say anything else, her eyes widened as several of the grey dogs brought mugs and dishes to the table.

“What clever dogs!” she exclaimed in surprise. They wagged their tales, hearing that, and trotted off. Ignoring her outburst, Beorn poured milk from the pitcher into each of their mugs. He took a long drink from his, and wiped his lips on the back of his hand.

“Now then. Tell me your tale.”

Cori had wrestled with what to say and had decided to start with the very bare truth. “I’m not from this world, and I don’t know how I got here. I think that maybe my grandmother was from here, somewhere. I went to bed last night, and was wakened by something, a feeling as if I’d fallen and hit the bed. But things were knocked over, inside my cottage, and when I looked outside, I was here. I will tell you a more, but please, what year is it?”

Beorn looked at her hard. “It’s 2920. What you say already sounds like a tall tale, but I don’t know why you would offer a lie so foolish.”

“I wish it were a lie. And I won’t say I don’t want anything from you, because I do. I don’t know how to live here, and I need to learn. Will you help me?”

“You said your grandmother was from Arda. Can she not help? Have you no other family?”

“They are all dead. They died in the other world.” Cori’s voice shook as she answered.

Beorn gave her another long look. “Not long ago, I think.”

“No. My father when I was younger, but my mother and grandmother, in the last year.” She blinked rapidly, forcing down her grief. 

Beorn’s face softened. “I know what it is to lose everyone. I will help you.”

Relief washed over her. Until Beorn agreed to help, she hadn’t noticed how tightly everything had been clenched. Now she let took in a deep breath, and released it, again willing herself toward calm. “Thank you. Could you teach me to fight? I know there are dangerous creatures here, like orcs. There weren’t many, where I came from, and I never had to learn.”

“Later, yes. Not now. Now, we finish our meal, and I will take you home. Nothing will trouble you so near to my hall.” They ate the rest of the food in silence. Cori was vaguely pleased to see that Beorn ate several scones, and felt a little less like a leech. She looked around as she ate, noting beeswax candles on the beams, and intricate carving on the posts. Beorn had a great open fieldstone fireplace that she admired. Before she could observe much else, they were done, and he walked her back to her cottage, and warned her to stay inside. Though it was not so late, Cori was wearied by all that had happened and fell into bed. For a change, sleep came easily, and she did not wake. 

Beorn thought on what she’d said. Her clothes were strange, and the house didn’t look like any he’d seen before, with its roof of strange ridged metal. But how would she know of orcs, if her world didn’t have any? He could see her grief was real, and the dogs liked her. That was enough to start with, and he would see what further answers he could find in the morning. 

The next day, Cori was roused by barking at her door. When she opened it, one of the grey dogs was there, and it pushed past her into the house. The dog—female this time, she noticed—sniffed all over the first floor, before jumping onto a chair at the kitchen table where she waited expectantly. This absurdity caused a strange feeling to bubble up inside her, and Cori realized that it was almost laughter. It drove away her unease at still finding herself in what she still half believed was a strange dream.

“All right, you may have breakfast with me. I hope you like oatmeal.” Soon they were both eating; the dog seemed to inhale her portion. And then, just as at dinner, the dog stood on her hind feet, took the bowl in her paws, and carried it to the sink, where she set it gently into the basin. “Thank you. You are just so smart!” 

Cori felt that maybe a world where dogs could do this could not be all bad, even if it did have orcs and giant spiders. She rolled her eyes at her own foolishness. Looking at the sink raised a more another question about what had happened: did she still have water? The cottage originally had been sitting next to a well, and had a barn and a woodshed. Cori went to the pitcher pump and was both pleased and astonished to find it had held its prime. She had not even thought about that yesterday, after making tea. Tasting the water, it tasted like the water in the cottage. She rushed outside to see the well was in its usual place, right outside the kitchen window. She walked outward from the well looking closely at the grass, and saw a line between the familiar plants from around the cottage, and local grasses and flowers. Around back, the barn and woodshed still stood in their usual places. She was so used to seeing them, she hadn’t even thought about it at first. Somehow it seemed far harder to believe that something had shifted about a quarter acre of land that happened to include her, than if she’d dropped out of the sky with nothing. 

“That is very odd,” she said to the dog, which had followed, and was sniffing along the seam. “Well, add that to the list of mysteries, I guess.”

“That list may grow long.” Cori jumped and gasped, and then put her hand on the well for support. Beorn had seated himself on the edge of the porch.

“Probably, yes. What can I do for you?”

“We will talk of what you can do for yourself.”

“Would you like to come in?”

In answer, Beorn walked into her cottage, ducking to pass under the lintel. He walked around, looking at everything. A rough stone chimney stood centered in the first floor, and formed a half wall between the parlor and the kitchen. The side facing the parlor had and open fireplace, while the other side was pierced further up by the stove pipe. As he walked closer to the fireplace, he saw that a long wooden plank hung from the mantel, that was painted with a mountain range. Above each peak were strange letters. Turning, he saw a picture made with very fine threads, and recognized one of the people in it as the woman before him. 

Cori followed, and saw that he was looking at the family portrait she had stitched. 

“You made this?”

“Yes. I’m a weaver by trade, and can make many things with thread, cloth, and also yarn.“

“What else?”

“I can cook and bake. I know how to grow things. I can do a little metalwork. I can ride a horse and take care of one. I can read and write, and keep accounts. I can sing. I know how to treat simple wounds. I can blow glass, a little. I can brew some pretty good ale. I can juggle. I don’t know if any of this is useful here, or to you… is it?”

“Can you use any weapons at all?”

“I can use a bow, but I’ve never been trained to really fight with that, or any other weapon.” Cori was careful not to say she had used her bow to hunt for food.

“Hmmm. You look strong. You have learned all these other things, you will learn this too. I will teach you, and you will help me with the garden, and cooking. Maybe singing. For the rest, I don’t need it, but sometimes the men or the elves come to trade for honey. Maybe they’ll want something.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Beorn shrugged. “You are honest, and you need help. I like those who tell a good tale without lying, and who offer what they can, as you did.”

“Is it alright if I plant things? I could put them in your garden, to share, if you like.”

“Yes. The bees will enjoy something new.” 

He abruptly turned and left, but spoke over his shoulder, “After the sun passes its highest, I will teach you. The mornings are for baking, gardening, and cleaning.”

Cori didn’t know if he intended they start everything that very day, but she didn’t want to be left with her thoughts, nor to offend her host, so she dressed hurriedly, and ran after him to his house. Beorn leaned in his doorway watching this, and might almost have smiled. He showed her the garden, and she took more careful note of what was growing, in order to figure what else she might plant. Her mother and gran had been almost obsessive about saving seeds, especially heirloom varieties, and she had done so as well.

That day began a routine that lasted until the ground froze. Cori helped Beorn with indoor chores, and then worked on adding more garden beds. There was a good pile of old manure behind one of the barns, and she worked it into the soil of each one, so that by spring, they would be ready for planting. It was reassuring, in this new world, to do familiar work. She came to feel she might survive, though she was torn between feeling comforted and disappointed at this prospect. And though Ennorath held wonder, Cori also saw lonely years stretching before her, no longer a choice, but a doom.

As she always had, she drove dark thoughts from her mind by keeping busy. She repeated drills as Beorn directed, which so far seemed focused on strength and speed, with nary a weapon in sight. The dogs frolicked around her as she practiced, while the cattle seemed bemused by her strange antics. The sheep shied away, finding her strange behavior unsettling. Cori surprised herself by having to stifle a chuckle at the reactions of her four-legged audience. It might have been her first laugh since Gran had died. Now and then, she began to feel almost glad, in her life.

Once the cold grew too bitter for work outdoors, even with her wool coat and warm boots, Beorn showed her a shed they’d not visited before. It was full with bales of wool stacked high, and he laughed at her avid expression. She washed and carded well into the winter, and when she wasn’t doing that, she continued the drills that she could do inside the barn. Cori hadn’t yet picked up a weapon, and imagined she’d still fare poorly in battle, but she might survive brigands if only by running away, and that was something. She began to feel pleased about her growing strength and agility.

When she’d prepared all the wool, she set up her spinning wheel in Beorn’s hall, rather than dragging the roving back to her cottage, and they spent many cold evenings in companionable silence, she spinning, and he carving, or repairing his tools. Sometimes they traded songs; Cori drew on the folk songs her mother had sung, and the old shanties her father had liked. They slowly began to converse, a question here, an answer there. Though she still didn’t dare to ask if he really turned into a bear, he shared some of his history. Beorn had suffered great loss himself, long in the past. He had learned how to live around that loss, and Cori took him for a guide in the bleak landscape of grief.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to stick closer to the book version of Beorn, though I made him a bit less rambunctious and a bit more grumpy. In general, I am trying to hew a little closer to the tone of LotR than The Hobbit, as this story is a little too serious and grown up for such a light tone.


	5. Changing Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cori begins to settle into her new life and makes plans to ensure everyone survives the quest for Erebor. She wrestles a little with things she thought were fictional turning out to be real. Beorn adopts a cub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not completely satisfied with this chapter; I think there might be too much time with Beorn's dogs, but my own dog is very ill, and it made me feel a little better. There are still a few moments of angst, and Cori is stll a bit of a mess, but she is making progress!

As the days grew short, Beorn grew sleepy, only waking for a few hours each day, and then to hunt orcs at night. Cori wondered weather he might rather sleep all the time, except for hunting, or perhaps not even wake for that. She finally raised the issue when she arrived one morning and found that he had just rolled out of bed and was still yawning.

“You needn’t wake for my sake, Beorn. I’ve the dogs and others to keep me company, and I can help to take care of the hall.” As she spoke, the two dogs she met in her first days seemed to assent, coming to sit on either side of her, tongues lolling. She didn’t know the names they used with Beorn, but they reminded her of Irish Wolfhounds, and when she began calling them Maeve and Auberon, they answered willingly. She rubbed Maeve’s ears in thanks.

“We might try that, if you stay here at night. I don’t want you alone in your house, if some dark creature comes calling.”

“Alright.” Beorn nodded, and returned to his bed.

Cori looked at the dogs. “Come and help me bring some things over.” They yipped their agreement and followed her through the snow to the cottage. She gathered clean underthings and socks, some books and knitting needles, to keep herself occupied for a day or two. She’d need to come back to keep the stove fed and save her potted plants from freezing.

After they returned, she started some bread and left it to rise, stewed some apples, made some tea, and then curled into one of Beorn’s enormous chairs to read. Though she still wanted to understand how she had been brought to Ennorath, she was more concerned now with what she could do about the events that would unfold in the future. She had arrived rather far in advance of the quest for Erebor, but she might at least try to speak with Gandalf. When she had read _The Hobbit_ , she had understood that Tolkien had been writing about the costs of war, and greed, and pride, and so the deaths of some characters, while tragic, and made sense to her as part of the author’s argument. After watching the films, she felt far more upset; the actors had given the dwarves far more personality than Tolkien, and some of the characters had seemed like dear friends to her, more than anyone she knew in the flesh. Now she worked at erasing what she believed those people to be, because they were real now, and belonged to themselves. And being real people, she felt bound to help them if she could.

Over the years, she had come to agree with Tolkien. Working against evil was not just a matter for heroes; everyone had to do whatever they might. So she began reading her old textbooks on ethics, negotiation, and reconciliation, and thinking it was just as well she’d been so stubborn about not clearing out old books. She was in equal parts relieved and worried that it seemed the most important thing was for all sides to see each other as people, and to have empathy for each other. It was a relief because she understood it, and it seemed straightforward. But at the same time, would it be enough to save lives? And how was she to accomplish it, anyway? She was again glad that she had years to figure it out.

As the days went by, she also dug into her gran’s books. In addition to the journals she’d found in the chest, she’d found scraps tucked into other books, even some poetry. She had begun learning Quenya in school, because it fit in so easily with her other language studies. As far as she could tell, she’d woken speaking Westron, though she wasn’t sure. But her books from Earth now looked odd, and gave her a slight headache when she read them. Another question she couldn’t answer. She reviewed everything Tolkien had written about his languages, and translated the texts her gran had left in Quenya, for practice. There were many references to keeping faith. Gran had never seemed very religious, so Cori had at first been puzzled. 

The more she read, the more it seemed Gran had been talking about Numenor, that she had somehow escaped to Harlond during its fall. Not something Cori would have ever believed before, but then, waking up in Middle Earth had changed her standards. It wasn’t clear yet how she’d then ended up on the Earth Cori knew. Sighing, she put the book aside, massaged her temples, and focused on her list of winter projects. She needed to knit several pairs of socks, and then she had an idea for a winter blanket, wool, with an embroidered pattern around the edge. So the time crept on, and while Cori missed Beorn’s company, scant as it was, she cuddled with the dogs at night, and sang to them as she worked during the day. 

She finished knitting her socks, and reading her books, and she began work embroidering the blanket which she had woven during autumn. It was a blend of llama and sheep’s wool made in a herringbone pattern of warm brown and honey colored threads, and she was stitching bees and hives around the border. She had pondered how to thank Beorn for his help, and this had been her best idea for someone who seemed to need so little. The days grew longer, and then one day it warmed enough that the icicles hanging from the eaves began crashing to the ground. Soon thereafter, she opened the door and found that birds she’d not heard since the snows began, had returned. She smiled to think that winter was ending. 

Cori had finished the blanket and had carefully laid it over Beorn, as he slept. Lacking another project, she began pondering what she might plant in the spring, and sorting through her seeds. She wondered whether she should start some under lights. She had plenty of power from the solar panels, though she didn’t know how long they’d last until they need a repair that couldn’t be had. She decided to go ahead and use them while she still could. 

A week later, as if thinking of spring had served instead of its arrival, she heard the creak of Beorn’s heavy tread in the house, and turned to see him standing by the fire with the blanket wrapped around him. 

“The bees still sleep, and yet I wake covered in them, he grumbled

Cori laughed and dared to tease him a little. “That seems right for a bear.” He narrowed his eyes and she held her breath, fearing he had taken offense. Then she saw that the corners of his lips had curled into a smile almost hidden in his beard, and relaxed. He gave a low huff that might have been laughter, and turned away.

“After the apple trees blossom, there may be travelers from that pass through the forest, bringing goods from the Blue hills or the Shire, heading for Laketown, or the Iron Hills. If you want to trade, you’ll need to gain their favor.”

“How might I do that?”

“Make some small things, easy to carry, easy to offer as gifts. They are like magpies, always wanting something new to sell.”

Cori nodded. Though she felt some impatience to begin preparing to help the quest as she planned, she also knew she wasn’t ready. She’d not spoken to another person since arriving, and still had little knowledge of how things were in the world right now. Traders brought news; that was a start.

As the weather warmed, her seeds sprouted and she planted the seedlings in the gardens as they were ready. Some were flowers, some were herbs, some were vegetables, and she hoped they would prove valuable to the traders as well, eventually. When rain was too heavy for gardening, she knitted socks and gloves, and wove and embroidered and felted. Beorn resumed teaching her, and each day she sank into sleep, too weary to read, or even think.

On one of these spring days, Maeve and Auberon were not in their usual places trotting behind her, or laying at her feet. Worried that perhaps she’d shut them into the barn or field without noticing, she looked around, only to see Auberon trotting out from behind the house, looking pleased. Cori walked back around and found Maeve wearing an expression that could only be called smug, if dogs could manage such a thing. Peering more closely at the dog, she saw that Maeve looked a little rounder around the middle, and her teats were swollen.

“I see,” Cori exclaimed. “Some around here are enjoying themselves.” There was a bark of laughter and she whirled to see Beorn, still chuckling.

“Now I wonder if you think I’ve neglected my duties as a host.” His laughter grew and Cori could not resist joining in. She had avoided entanglements of that kind all her life, and though she’d made the occasional experiment, her reluctance to let anyone close to her heart kept any bond from forming, and she’d never felt moved to do anything about any of it. She did worry though, that she had misunderstood what Beorn thought was going on between them, and wondered if she’d somehow led him on.

Outside of her family, Beorn was the closest thing to a real friend she’d ever had, and she found herself fearing she’d spoiled it. Cori stayed away from Beorn’s hall that night, shutting herself into the cottage and spending a sleepless night trying to decide if she should leave, and then trying to convince herself that she didn’t care. In the morning she dragged herself out of bed and dressed when she heard Maeve barking insistently at the door. When she opened it, Maeve snagged one of her sleeves and began dragging her toward the hall. Cori took some solace in the dog’s loyalty.

When they reached the house, Maeve seemed to sense that Cori might still try to bolt, and dragged her right across the threshold. Beorn looked up from where he slouched in his chair, scowling. Cori winced at his expression, and stood there awkwardly until Auberon, who had been sitting by Beorn, barked impatiently, and stamped his paw. Beorn turned his frown on Auberon, but the dog responded with an exasperated sounding growl and another stamp. Beorn rolled his eyes and growled.

“They say you are planning to leave. Are you angry at me for laughing? I didn’t mean anything by it.” Cori’s eyes widened.

“Oh! No, I thought…” She blushed. “I thought I had made _you_ uncomfortable.”

“Why would I be?” asked Beorn in surprise.

“Because it might have sounded like I wanted… I mean I don’t at all…” She trailed off, and turned away miserably, before continuing. “I’ve never really had friends. I don’t know how it works. I’m sorry.”

Beorn’s expression had gone from surprised to sad. “I did not know that even before your losses, you had so few. I am accustomed to being alone, and even when I wasn’t, I cared little for polite talk. I thought I had offended you. But, you should know, I do not think of you as a friend.”

Cori’s heart sank, and she bowed her head to hide the tears welling up.

“I think of you as family.”

Cori had braced herself to leave, almost looked forward to it, for its familiar loneliness was almost easier to face than the strange geography of connections that would with staying put. Beorn’s words left her stunned, and she stood frozen and pale, not knowing what to do or say. But Beorn knew. He remembered what youngsters needed, though his had been lost long ago. He rose and walked to this strange woman, and carefully embraced her. Cori leaned against him, and for the first time since her mother died, she wept, and was comforted.

******************

  


  


  


Having settled things between them, Cori and Beorn returned to a comfortable routine of daily chores around the hall, the gardens, and the cottage. As the days passed and warmed, Maeve grew round, until one morning when Cori arrived at the hall with some fresh rolls and sprigs of mint for their tea, she entered to hear a chorus of high pitched squeaks coming from a basket on the hearth. Dropping everything on the table, she rushed over to find Maeve resting on a blanket and Auberon sitting proudly behind her. There were eight fuzzy pups wiggling blindly until each one fell asleep, exhausted after the tiring business of birth.

Cori dropped to her knees next to the basket and exclaimed. “Ohhh! Maeve, you brilliant girl. They are lovely. Maeve’s tail waved slowly; she too was weary. Beorn returned then with a bowl of honey and cream for Maeve, which she lapped up hungrily. He smiled to see how Cori fussed over Maeve and her pups.

“When they are older, one of these will be yours, and one from another pair of the hounds.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Beorn, or you two,” she added, looking at Maeve and Auberon.” 

Maeve licked her hand in response, and Beorn said, “teach them well and look after them. That’s enough thanks for me.”

As soon as the puppies were old enough to begin wobbling around the hall, Cori chose one that had dark fur and a white patch on his chest that she thought looked like a hammer. She left him with Maeve, but paid him special attention and called him by Gowan. A week later, another litter arrived, and from that one, Cori chose one that was mottled silver and grey all over, and called her Ceo. Beorn smiled to see Cori dozing by the fire with the two pups curled against her.

As they grew steadier on their enormous feet, they followed her everywhere, and she began teaching them to understand her, as well as trying harder to follow the way Beorn spoke with Maeve and Auberon. Because Gowan followed her, Maeve and Auberon, and all the rest of their litter trailed her as well. Ceo’s dam seemed content to delegate mothering to Maeve, so Cori was spared a further crowd, at least. 

When the first group of traders rode through, Cori met them with fabric samples, and muddle of puppies at her feet. They left with a bundle of her wares, in exchange for news and some tools that had come all the way from the Blue Mountains, and promised to stop again when they returned in the autumn. Cori didn’t know it then, but the pups frisking around her and interrupting her, begging to be picked up, had done her no harm. Thanks to their antics and her laughing scolds, she was seen as kind and good humored. The high quality of her work rounded out this wholesome impression. 

Her experience selling at fairs stood her in good stead and when the next group came through, going the other way, she chatted with them comfortably. They left with a different bundle of samples, in exchange for a bottle of wine from near Rhun, and a promise to return with spices and rice from Gondor. They were similarly charmed by the puppies and among themselves agreed with the gossip they’d heard from the first traders, that Cori was skilled, pleasant, and harmless. 

They wondered about her living so near to Beorn’s Halls, but none dared ask. If she was under his protection, gossip was not worth the risk of incurring his wrath. In addition to these men and women from around the Anduin, elven travelers occasionally passed by. Cori was surprised at how often they stopped to visit with Beorn, though at first she was too shy to speak with them, merely peppering Beorn with questions over dinner, afterward.

“I didn’t know you were friendly with elves.”

“Why would you?” That gave Cori pause, reminding her that she had told Beorn very little about herself, and nothing about her foreknowledge.

“You’re right. And you don’t know much of me, either. She tilted her head to look up at him in his chair. “I’ll trade you question for question, if you want.”

He smiled behind his whiskers. “A game; very well. You begin.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Since orcs drove me from the misty mountains.” He smiled as he gave this non-answer. “Now, why are you here?”

“Because you invited me to stay.”

“Ha! Your turn.”

“Do you know Radagast the Brown?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“I have heard of him, but not met him.”

“Do you know Thranduil?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“I know of him, but haven’t met him, yet.” Beorn’s eyes narrowed as he noted the change in her answer. “What do you think of him?”

“Old and grumpy like me, but much older. Misses his wife. Too proud for his own good. Why do you want to know?”

“Because eventually I must persuade him to help a band of dwarves that will come through here in fifteen and a half years. In pursuit of a quest.” She sighed. “I need to persuade you too.”

Beorn raised his heavy brows and then just looked at her while he stroked his beard. When Cori felt she would say almost anything to break the silence, he growled, “I think it’s time to end this game and have some plain talk.”

“I should have told you before, but I wasn’t sure of some of it and then… then I was afraid you’d think I was mad, or lying.”

Beorn shook his head. “I am grumpy, not stupid, or cruel. Tell me what you know, or fear to be true, and and what you suppose.”

Taking a deep breath, Cori launched into her tale. Beorn listened thoughtfully, and did not interrupt when she strayed from talking about Middle Earth to how her father had died, or her grief over her mother, lost to a plague that had swept over her world. She didn’t say much about how different her world had been. Many of its problems were much the same as those afflicting Middle Earth. Greed, mistrust, and the will to dominate. But he was intrigued by the notion that stories of Middle Earth were known in her world, and the manner of her arrival, and of her gran’s apparent removal convinced him that she needed the advice of a wizard. Her intention to work against Sauron meant that she was right, she must really learn to fight.

When she finished her tale, Cori felt empty, or perhaps light, but it was hard to know what she really thought or felt. It had grown dark, and the pups were all asleep. The firelight and the candles cast a warm glow over the hall, and Cori realized that it had begun to feel like home. Beorn looked at her, and shook his head. He had grown to care for this mysterious woman, but beyond offering her a home, and teaching her to survive, he was unsure yet how to help. He rose and took one of her hands, pulling her up as well.

“Do not despair, cub. You will sleep here where there is warmth and company, and tomorrow, we will think what to do. I have a call to make tonight and we will set an extra place for breakfast tomorrow.” Cori tiredly allowed herself to be led to one of the low platforms and tucked into bed. Feeling like a child again was comforting, and helped to settle her thoughts for sleep. She managed a small smile up at Beorn. 

“Thank you again, for not turning me away.” 

He huffed into his beard, but then smiled and patted her on the head. “Sleep now, cub.”

Once he was sure she had drifted off, he growled instructions at Auberon, and let himself silently out the door.

As a bear, Beorn could easily travel south of the Old Forest Road and back in one night; far enough south to find a bird that knew Radagast and would take him a message. It was still some hours until dawn when he lumbered back up to his door, transformed, and passed inside. Cori was curled up asleep, with her pups sprawled around her. In the darkness, he saw that she seemed to have a very faint glow. Had the moon been out, he would not have noticed it, and he could not recall whether he’d seen her in such thick darkness before. Another mystery. But the brown wizard might have some answers. Beorn saw that she shivered a little, and tucked another blanket over her, and the dogs.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we finally meet one more character. I'm thinking of updating earlier, because even I am getting impatient, and I've already written up to chapter 24, it feels stingy not to share more. We'll see how the editing goes.


	6. A Wizard Comes to Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Radagast comes to visit, and makes plans with Cori and Beorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter lays some groundwork; Cori has worked out a general plan, and gained the brown wizard's support. Still a little heavy with dog-related details. My own died last weekend after a hard fight with cancer. The dogs in this story are nothing like him, but they are a kind of memorial.

Cori woke when she tried to roll over and found herself unable to move. She gasped with fright, and then realized she was pinned down by Auberon, who was on top of the blanket with his head resting on her back, in addition to the pups plastered against her under the blanket. She wriggled herself loose, and he cracked an eye open from his new position, head on her belly. “And who invited you to crowd in here?” A pale blue eye regarded her, and his tale began thumping. “Yes, well, don’t think this will be allowed every night.” She thought about what Beorn had said, and wondered who their guest would be. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but dawn was not far off. She might as well start making breakfast. “Alright, get your great heavy head off of me, Auberon, or I won’t put any honey in your porridge.” The dog grumbled, but shifted himself. After Cori left the bed, he arranged himself exactly where she had lain, and flopped back down. She rolled her eyes. “Lazy creature.”

Maeve already had pups lined up against her belly for an early meal, and was looking a little harassed. She looked even more so after Gowan and Ceo crowded in; they were growing quickly and had their first teeth. “Hang on, Maeve. I’ll bring you breakfast.” The dog whined appreciatively. Cori added logs to the fire and set a big pot to boil for porridge and tea. Then she gathered some of the dough that she’d set rising yesterday. Greasing an earthen dish, she put the ball of dough gently inside, and put on the lid. Setting in near the fire to rise again, she added grain and dried berries to the water, and made herself some tea.

Sitting by the hearth as she waited for the fire to reach the right heat, she considered what must happen before 2941, when Thorin’s company would arrive, with Gandalf. It was a relief to have 20 years to accomplish everything, though she worried about reaching her sixties by the time the Battle of Five Armies took place. But there was nothing for it, so she pushed that issue aside. She would tell Beorn about the dwarves, so they could avoid the silly business of Gandalf bringing the dwarves out two by two, and the generally ill feeling of that encounter. 

As they got to know each other better, Cori could see that Beorn was indeed not overly fond of dwarves, and she guessed it might be he felt they had too little regard for Yavanna’s creation. Cori had often wondered herself, why that was so; Aulë and Yavanna were wed, after all. She wasn’t sure how to broach this with him, and set it aside as well, trusting that time, and getting to know him better, would inspire her somehow. Interrupting her thoughts, Auberon wandered in and yipped at her; with a start, she realized that the porridge was near to boiling over, and it was certainly time to begin baking the bread. “Thanks, Auberon. That almost makes up for scaring me this morning.” The dog slitted his eyes and offered a toothy grin as he lay down next to Maeve.

She ladled out two bowls of porridge for the dogs, and set the rest to stay warm on the hearth. Then, taking the mug of tea with her, she sat on the south-facing porch as the sun began to rise over the Anduin Vale. She had shifted from thinking about how to persuade Beorn to help Thorin’s company to considering what she knew of him so far. The Beorn she’d met was not much the like the Beorn of the films. He was brusque, and had no patience for those who tried to hand him a pack of lies, but she had found him very kind. Not only had he helped her survive, but he called her family, and she had come to care for him as well. 

She wondered if the same would be true for Radagast, who had a very small part in the books; the less said about the film, the better. And what about the dwarves? Those of the film had been very different from the books… Even some of Tolkien’s own tales were inconsistent in how certain people were portrayed. There was much debate among both fans and Tolkien scholars about the varying tone of his works, especially when some, like Gandalf, seemed very different during the ring war, than he’d been during the quest for Erebor.

She rose and began wandering through the garden, the grass cool under her bare feet. Spring flowers were blooming, and the scent of bluebells, and lilies-of-the-valley drifted on the air. The apple trees were flowering as well, and in the pale, early light, their blossoms veiled the trees. The gardens never failed to remind her of her mother, and of Gran, who would have loved them.

Though she was beginning to understand Gran’s history, she would have been thrown out of this world an age before any of the events that Cori would witness. So Tolkien’s knowledge of them remained a mystery. She wondered if others had crossed over. Or perhaps the strange tale of ‘Aelfwine’ was actually true? If it was, then she must be in the distant past of her own world, but she had no idea how to square that with all she knew of the Earth’s history. She supposed that the Valar must be behind it all, which was some comfort, but she was still struggling with their existence as well. Impatient barking interrupted her ruminations. 

She went back inside to find that Auberon had put the bowls in the sink and was standing by the bread oven. She grabbed the wooden peel, slid it under the baking dish, and lifted it out of the oven. “I think you’re right, Aub, it smells done. Carefully lifting off the lid, she thumped the brown and crusty loaf. Smiling at the hollow sound, she left it to cool, and began laying the table, with the dogs’ help.

As there was nothing else to prepare, and Beorn had not yet risen, she went back to the porch, this time bringing Gowan with her. The pup was sleepy after his breakfast, and dozed in her arms while she kept pondering. Thranduil was an unknown. He was barely mentioned in the books, and she wasn’t convinced that his portrayal in the films was accurate, though she could well believe an argument over gems, and there had been the whole ugly business with Thingol, so many years ago. She would try to meet him, as soon as she could. 

If he were more favorably disposed beforehand, he might be persuaded to help the men of Laketown before they were attacked. She was still deep in thought when Gowan awoke and turned his head toward the forest. Now the sun was well up, and the gardens were humming with bees, and loud with birdsong. Cori listened, and thought perhaps she could here a far off rustling in the grass, but since her arrival, she’d often thought she heard things for which she never saw the cause.

She rose and walked with the now alert pup out through the hedge and around toward the trees, to see what had caught his attention. A few moments later, a figure appeared, robed in brown, and she felt sure it must be Radagast. “Look at that, Gowan, it must be our guest!” A thrill came over her at the thought of meeting a real wizard, and she hoped that he was friendly. Cori had thought to just wait on the porch for him, but Gowan had other ideas, and squirmed until she set him down. He began barking and trying to run toward the wizard, though he tripped over his own feet. Cori flushed with embarrassment, and hoped that this visitor liked dogs. The noise brought the rest of them from inside, so that their guest was greeted by a loud and furry mob. 

Cori did not try to make herself heard, but only smiled ruefully, and left Beorn (who had been waked by the racket and come out) to settle the dogs. Once they were all inside, Beorn said, “this is Cori.” She felt this was not quite enough, and added, “another one of his adopted creatures.”

The man she faced (for he appeared manlike enough) was only a little taller than she, rather stout, with grizzled brown hair and beard, and warm brown eyes. Something about him conveyed a feeling of safety, and care; a yearning for his friendship swept over her. He looked at her carefully, and then smiled gently. 

“And I am Radagast. Beorn told me about you in his message, at least some. A very curious tale indeed.”

Cori blushed a little, fearing that he thought her tale only a fiction. “I would like to speak with you about it, because I have questions that I hope a wizard, one of the istari, might answer. But first, breakfast awaits.”

Radagast stiffened a little to hear her call him thus, and then looked relieved at the offer of breakfast, which would serve to put off her questions at least a little. Seeing the wizard’s alarm, Beorn clapped him on the back. 

“Don’t worry, old friend. The dogs love her, and the bees do not sting.”

Radagast unbent, hearing that, and ate with a good will. After emptying his plate, he commented, “both dogs and bees are fine judges of character. Tell me, is there anymore of this excellent porridge?”

Cori grinned and refilled his bowl, and passed the teapot around as well. When all had eaten their fill, Radagast again fixed his keen gaze upon her. “Now, my dear, let us sit in the garden, and you shall ask me your questions, Perhaps I will ask some as well.”

She led him out to a rough hewn bench in the sun, and they sat, watching the bees visiting each flower, while Beorn checked the hives. Cori had taken pains to plant lavender near each bench, and the refreshing odor drifted to them. Radagast inhaled appreciatively, and looked more attentively about the gardens. He saw that there were new plantings all over, many covered with bees and butterflies. Adding that context, he returned his eyes to Cori, who was smiling to see him enjoying the flowers.

“Maybe, Radagast, you should ask me questions first?”

He returned her smile. “Very well. Now, how did you come to be here? For Beorn has been the only one in the vale for many years.”

“It will sound very odd, but I promise, I’m not mad, nor lying.” She hesitated. “I have to back up, a little.”

Radagast nodded, and she began. “I was born in another time, maybe another world, though I don’t know for sure. About a year and a half past, my grandmother died, of grief, it seemed. As if she’d just decided it was time. Her dying words were that she had thought she’d go back…somewhere. 

“Then, after, when I was sorting out her things, there were journals written in Quenya. And papers that seem to prove she was far older than I thought. That perhaps my father was older as well. I think she was from Ennorath, and moreover, from what else was written, I think she escaped the fall of Numenor. Somehow she was sent to my world, pregnant with my father.” 

The wizard looked puzzled. “How did you know it was Quenya?” Cori was grateful that he didn’t say right off that her knowledge negated her claim, and smiled faintly. “I’ll get to that.”

“Not long after Gran’s death, I also lost my mother. My father had been killed many years earlier…I was alone.” For a moment Cori’s voice stilled, and grief shadowed her face, before she swallowed hard and went on.

“Anyway, last autumn, I fell asleep in my cottage in that other world, and when I woke, I, and the cottage, and even my barn, were here. I was the one who was brought here, though Gran was the one who left. I think it must have been the Valar, or Eru himself, who did these things, and I can’t believe it would happen for no reason. So, I wanted to know if you could help me making sure of their purpose, and seeing it through. I guess that’s my only question.”

Radagast blinked, and looked at her for a moment before speaking. “Most unexpected. I would have guessed that the first question would be whether I can send you back.”

Cori flinched. “No! I don’t want to go back.” She looked away and continued. “There’s nothing for me there, and a plague was sweeping uncontrolled over almost all the world, because those in power did nothing to stop it and were concerned only with gathering more and more wealth and power. Truly, I suspect it was part of my Gran’s despair, that so many seemed to act like agents of Morgoth, for all they’d never heard of him, or didn’t believe he existed.

“Admittedly, until I found myself here, I didn’t believe in him either.” Bringing her eyes back to meet the wizard’s troubled gaze, she sighed. “I believe now. I believe in the Valar and Eru, and I must believe they have some use for me. Makeshift tool as I may be, I can’t ignore that. I couldn’t do much about the evils in my own world, though I tried. Maybe I can make more of a difference here. I had hoped that one of you wizards, having also been given a task by the Valar, might have some advice.”

His eyes softened and Radagast patted Cori’s hand. “My dear, The lords and ladies are neither capricious nor cruel. If they brought you here, it is because they believe your presence would work to the good of us all, and their purpose will reveal itself. I am perhaps not the best of wizards to try untangling your fate, but I will do what I can. Have you any thought to what they might intend? You know yourself best; can you think of how you might help?”

Cori smiled. “This is where I make clear how I knew it was Quenya.” She explained that tales of Ennorath spanning the time from before the elves awakening into the fourth age were known in her world. “Some, Gran might have shared with the author, for she knew him, but I’m uncertain how he learned of things that happened in later ages. 

“But no matter how he learned, I have been dropped into this world twenty years before Gandalf and a company of dwarves will retake Erebor. I don’t know of any nearer events that are important, and I know their story very well; it was one of my favorites. I suspect I am to help them somehow. I believe there are things I could change that would create stronger bonds between dwarves, elves and men, in order to save some who are killed in the tale from meeting that cruel fate. If I can, it might eventually help to defeat the necromancer. The necromancer whom I should say is truly Sauron, hiding, and rebuilding his power.”

Radagast blanched in dismay. “How know you of Sauron’s plans? Are you certain?”

“I’m afraid I am. The stories I know tell of Melkor disrupting Eru’s music and what followed, including the history of his chief lieutenant.” Cori looked down and sighed.

“Radagast, I know about the stars, the lamps and the trees, before the sun and the moon. I know about the maiar, and how five were sent to Ennorath. The stories say that you serve Lady Yavanna. Do you?” She trailed off thinking that this really was an awful lot to pile onto the brown wizard, and then added “she was always one of my favorites. And Aulë, of course.” Cori fell silent again, and all at once the birdsong seemed loud in her ears as she paused for him to make some reply.

Radagast stared blankly at the garden, so still that a bee landed on his cheek and searched for pollen for some moments, before flying off, unsatisfied. Cori waited, and began wondering if the should try to rouse him, but then Gabha, who had by now had another meal of his own and a nap, tottered over and whined at her to pick him up. An armful of puppy did much to dispel her mounting worries, but he was too squirmy to hold for long.

“Oof, you are getting too big for my lap.” She set him down next to her; the bundle of grey fluff sat on the bench with them quietly for a heartbeat, but then began to wiggle across her, in order to reach the wizard. He began licking Radagast’s hand, and then tried attacking his sleeve. Cori tried not to laugh, but could not repress a chuckle. The wizard blinked and shook himself, and seeing the puppy, smiled. In spite of this, his eyes were serious when he looked at Cori.

“You said Gandalf would come with the dwarves; you certainly should speak with him about this when he arrives. If you were intended to meet him sooner, then you likely would have been left elsewhere. In the mean time, I am not sure what I can do to help. I have little truck with any of the peoples here.”

Cori struggled not to show her dismay. If the brown wizard refused to help, everything else might be that much harder. Thinking of that gave her the will to plead her cause.

“I know you don’t, Radagast. But if you want to protect Yavanna’s creation, please help me. It is not only men, dwarves, elves and hobbits that will suffer Sauron’s evil. I had hoped… that is…I wondered if you know Thranduil at all? Even if you don’t visit him often? I mean to speak with him, to enlist his help, but he has no reason to pay me any heed. I thought that if you would go with me, he at least might give me a hearing.”

Radagast considered what he’d seen in the forest of late. The darkness was spreading, and while he had not been much inclined to visit with Thranduil, they probably should speak about that growing shadow. While the young woman’s story (for all of the race of men seemed young to him) was most peculiar, so were many stories, and were yet true. And no harm could come from a visit to the elves.

“It is perhaps time I visited the Woodland Realm again. I’ve not seen Thranduil in many years. The Elvenking and I have sometimes spoken about the darkness hanging over Mirkwood, as it is now called, and we are probably overdue for another talk. And, if this will indeed aid in defeating the enemy, then I am with you, my dear, all the way.”

Cori was so relieved that without thinking, she hugged him just as she would Beorn, exclaiming, “thank you, Radagast, thank you!”

The wizard was startled, but felt that it was rather nice to be treated as a friend. Cori let go of him and added, “that sickness is also Sauron’s doing.” Cori’s scowl showed what she thought of his influence. “But it cannot be lifted until he is utterly defeated.” She looked at the wizard and her eyes were filled with regret. “In the tales I know, that will happen in just under 100 years or so.”

Radagast smiled. “Knowing it will happen at all is a great comfort.” In spite of his brave words, the wizard looked downcast and Cori was moved to console him.

“I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to bear. But I truly think you can help me with this, and surely that is a good thing?” She squeezed his hand, quietly astonished to be comforting a wizard. 

Radagast took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. “You are quite right, my dear. Now, how exactly might I help you with the Thranduil? Surely just getting you in the door won’t be enough.”

Cori smiled wryly. “I must convince him to help the dwarves, and all I have heard about the ill will between those races makes me think I should start now, if I’m to have any hope of success. He might be more likely to believe me, if you were there also. On my own, I imagine he’d think me crack-brained, at best.”

The wizard smiled shyly. “Perhaps, perhaps, though Thranduil is known to discern the true intent of those who speak with him. It can’t hurt to try. When shall we go?”

“I’m not sure; I thought after the harvest here, so that I don’t leave Beorn alone to manage it. I thought I might bring the Elvenking something to thank him for the hospitality I hope he will offer. I suppose he won’t want a nice scarf or pair of warm socks?”

A laugh burst out of the wizard then, like sun on a gloomy day. “Oh, I don’t know. Those seem like very nice gifts to me! Well, this will be an adventure.” 

They agreed that Radagast would return after the chestnuts had fallen, so that Cori would have time to finish the harvest with Beorn, prepare a gift, and continue practicing with her sword. Radagast would send to Thranduil, to make sure he and his new friend would be welcome. Cori decided to knit him a scarf before their journey, but said nothing of it. 

By the time they had done planning, the sun was high and Beorn, who had listened to all they said as he worked, was calling them in for lunch. While they ate, Beorn and Radagast talked over the increasing trouble they’d both had with orcs, the shadow over the forest, and news they each had heard from travelers. Beorn agree with the timing for the journey, though he could manage to harvest easily enough. He did not say so, but he knew that Cori needed to try herself against real foes before going off into Mirkwood. 

Cori listened attentively to their conversation; details of the forest’s affliction were unknown in the stories, nor had much news of the wider world been included. She hoped to learn something that could aid the dwarves, when the time came. She was astonished to learn, as they talked, that Radagast could take many animal forms; it was a detail she’d quite forgotten, if she’d ever known it. She pondered what difference that might make to the way events unfolded.

When they paused to refill their mugs, she ventured a question. “What about the spiders? I have read they are spawn of Ungoliant, but I don’t know what that means, exactly, except that they are enormous. Are they otherwise the same as ordinary spiders?”

Beorn smiled behind his whiskers. Many might blanch at the notion of orcs or huge spiders, but Cori’s curiosity always rose to the forefront. He had at first thought it innocence, but after learning of the griefs she’d faced, he knew she looked for any wonder she could find, and falling into another world had offered her plenty. She reminded him of how Eru turned all, even ill deeds or events, to his own purpose and perfection. 

Radagast hummed as he thought. “Yes and no. They are far cleverer, which is quite disconcerting. They have two kinds of poison, one that kills quickly, and another that only paralyzes. Their webs are used the same way, but I would say they are much tougher. They will burn, and can be cut with a mithril blade, or a heated blade of any sort, but are not so easily broken, otherwise.”

“How far into the forest must one go to find them? Are they near any of the edges, or the roads?”

“Quite near, in some places. Why?”

“I wish to gather some. In my world, they learned to make armor from spider silk, and it was stronger than almost anything else. I know mithril is the strongest thing here, but I don’t have any. I would try these webs, to see if I can armor myself with them.”

Radagast’s eyebrows rose. “My word! I would never have thought of such a thing, but I would be very interested to see the results of your attempt.”

“I know where we might find a wide swath of trees covered with webs,” rumbled Beorn. “We will go near midsummer, while the days are longest; then are we least likely to meet the spinners.”

Radagast stayed one more day before starting his journey home, and during that time he and Cori found they had much in common. They had strolled round the garden and talked a great deal about the smaller creatures to be found in the vale. Cori had always loved wandering the woods in Maine, or setting off in a canoe by herself in her nearby ponds and rivers. Radagast was eager to hear about the birds she had seen, and all the frogs and toads. They spent the evening before he left poring over pictures in her collection of field guides, which he found entrancing. Cori still wondered what form of creature he took to travel, but had felt it would be rude to ask, since he hadn’t said any more about it. Maybe she would learn it when autumn came. 

In years to come, Cori looked back on that day as one of near perfect contentment. Her plan was in motion, and she had made a good friend. The gentle warmth of the sun and bright colors of the garden seemed magical in a way she had been waiting and hoping for, since her arrival. She was almost afraid to believe that in this world, virtue and a pure intent would make a difference, but this day of sunshine and flowers felt like a sign. She relaxed into it, and listening to her laughter warmed Beorn’s heart.

After Radagast left, he had said little more about her plan to visit the elves, and seemed to be weighing it privately, so Cori left him to it, and focused on her chores, and her ongoing efforts at weaponry, spurred on by her renewed hope. Beorn had given her exercises with a wooden sword and after watching and correcting the motions, told her to do them until they no longer required thought. She often went to bed sapped, and woke stiff and sore, but never complained. She knew she was lucky to have his teaching.

Thus she passed the days until midsummer. The gardens grew lush and the air was heavily scented with the flowers she’d added, and she brought bouquets into her cottage and the hall. She began to harvest herbs, fruit, and vegetables as well. Some they ate, and the rest she dried, and smoked, and otherwise preserved. Though Beorn could live with only honey cakes and cream, he seemed to enjoy the more varied fair. Between the gardening and the weapons practice, Cory was growing stronger. Beorn made no mention of it, but only smiled and gave her more exercises.

  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding how Tolkien knew the stories of Arda, he himself referred to a number of sources. Cori has no way to verify any of them, and much of of what her gran might have said would have duplicated those. If you are interested in the chroniclers of Arda, this page is helpful: http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Category:Chroniclers_of_Arda


End file.
